


Winds of Heaven

by romanticalgirl



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Practicing Hamlet</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winds of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 4-26-07

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’re only whinging because there’s no chance you’ll get Hamlet.” Matthew tapped his epee against Ioan’s. “C’mon now, en guarde.”

“I don’t see why…”

“Because I’m going to play Hamlet, you pissing little monster, now come on.” He smiled, his wide grin causing Ioan to smile as well, even in the face of the insult.

“You owe me a pint.”

“Careful it’s not a poisoned cup.”

“That’s my job.” Ioan twirled his rapier then brought it against Matthew’s. “It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain. No med-cine in the world can do thee good. In thee there is not half an hour of life. The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, Unbated and envenomed. The foul practice Hath turned itself on me. Lo, here I lie, never to rise again. Thy mother’s poisoned. I can no more. The King, the King’s to blame.”

Matthew parried Ioan’s attack, narrowly missing the coffee table as Ioan advanced. “The point envenomed too? Then, venom, to thy work.” He stabbed the pillow, still backing away from Ioan. 

Ioan bit back a laugh. “Alas, poor Claudius. I knew him well.”

“Wrong scene.” Matthew climbed up on the couch, pointing his blade down at the pillow. “Here, thou incestuous, murd’rous, damned Dane, drink off this potion. Is thy union here? Follow my mother.”

“Your family rivals the Windsors at this rate.” Ioan climbed on the couch, straddling the pillow to catch Matthew’s rapier again. “He is justly served. It is a poison tempered by himself. Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet. Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee, nor thine on thee.” He let his sword fall to the side. “Don’t see why I have to die.”

“I’ll die soon enough. Just get on with it.” Ioan collapsed onto the couch and stuck his tongue out, letting it loll to the side. Matthew laughed then tried to sober himself, falling to his knees, straddling Ioan’s long legs. “Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee, I am dead, Horatio. Wretched Queen, adieu! You that look pale and tremble at this chance, That are but mutes or audience to this act, Had I but time – as this fell sergeant Death Is strict in his arrest – O, I could tell you – but let it be. Horatio, I am dead, Thou liv’st. Report me and my cause aright to the unsatisfied.”

“Oh, and now I’ve got to pick up the slack and play another bloody character.” Ioan pulled his legs from beneath Matthew, shoving Matthew back against the arm of the couch with the soles of his feet and then moving in, straddling Matthew. “Never believe it. I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. Here’s yet some liquor left.”

“As thou’rt a man, give me the cup. Let go. By heaven, I’ll ha’t. O God, Horatio, what a wounded name, things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!” Matthew reached out, brushing his fingers down Ioan’s chest. “If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, absent thee from felicity a while, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain to tell my story.” His hand moved up, tracing Ioan’s eyebrow, then his cheek and then his lower lip. 

They stayed there, silent for a long moment until Ioan spoke his voice distant and soft as he shifted closer, settling over Matthew. “What warlike-” he prompted.

Matthew closed his eyes, hand sliding around the back of Ioan’s neck and pulling him closer, their lips brushing. His voice dropped to a whisper, held between them. “What warlike noise is this?”

“Seriously, Rhys, I have to play everyone.” He reached down for the long forgotten copy of the play beside the couch and shifted on Matthew, settling in the cradle of Matthew’s parted legs. He flipped a few pages, his eyes drifting closed from time to time as Matthew’s fingers grazed his skin, sending shivers along Ioan’s flesh. “Y-young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, to th’ambassadors of England gives this warlike volley.”

Matthew swallowed, stealing the promise of a kiss from Ioan’s lips, his teeth grazing Ioan’s full lower lip. “O, I die, Horatio! The potent poison quite o’ercrows my spirit. I cannot live to hear the news from England, but I do prophesy th’election lights on Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. So tell him, with th’occurrents, more and less, which have solicited. The rest is silence. O, O, O, O!”

Ioan closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Matthew’s for a long moment before speaking again, moving his head so the words feathered against Matthew’s neck. “Now cracks a noble heart.” Matthew made a soft noise, turning his head to find Ioan’s mouth, They broke apart long moments later, both panting. “Good night, sweet prince,” Ioan managed as he got to his feet and held a hand down to Matthew, tugging him up and toward the bedroom. “And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”


End file.
